Infidelity
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Switches between Spencer and Ashley's POV :: One-shot :: Angst. Some sexual content. :: You can say it is over and done, but that doesn't make it true.


Everyone knows, invisible words written all too plainly over skin - against a cheek that is lightly kissed and then left lonely - everyone knows.

That waiter. Those patrons. The man who opens the door.

Everyone knows and it hangs heavily in the air until one of them finally walks away, claiming an early start or too long of a night already... and one of them leaves and there is an almost inaudible sigh that settles the whole room.

The chatter starts up again. The sound of ice hitting glass. Even the dull sound of traffic in the distance.

Last time, it was Ashley.

Tonight, it is Spencer.

And somewhere along the way, Spencer got a girlfriend. Same age, different job, a steady life with steady feelings and a steady world - apartment and two toothbrushes - and Spencer moved on.

Not perfectly, no. Not totally, no. Not completely... no, not like that at all...

And everyone knows. Ashley knows.

And Spencer knows, too.

/ /

She put those photos away. And when Ashley actually returned, right before graduation, Spencer had put away a lot more than just evidence.

She put it all away, buried it and stomped on it and covered it up with pain.

And when Ashley actually found her, sought her out and pleaded with those broken brown eyes, Spencer reached down deep just to keep saying 'no'.

Because Ashley may not be good at being faithful or at being honest, but she is sure good at convincing you otherwise.

She'll make you believe in her.

And that's a mistake that Spencer has already made.

"So, where are you going?"

"NYU."

"Wow. That's, uh, that's great, Spence..."

The nickname rolls off her back. Not without hurting, though. Not without wounding her a bit.

She gets swept away by other friends then and doesn't look back.

Even though a part of her wants to.

Desperately.

/ /

Ashley watches this procession of people cross the stage and she keeps her gaze on one particular person.

Not a friend. Not a lover. But she couldn't tell you what they are. She never could.

They were meant to be everything.

And they have ended up almost nothing.

'Nothing' hurts like hell, though. It stabs and it twists within Ashley's heart.

Because she does have one, contrary to popular belief. And it breaks. And it shatters. And it tells her the truth when the rest of her lies.

It told her a litany of truths every day and every night in Europe.

She just didn't listen.

The name she is wanting to hear is called and she claps with the rest of them and she smiles when Spencer smiles, a reflex... a reaction... a thing she cannot stop so easily.

And there are speeches. And there are tears. And there are families all a-glow.

Ashley takes a shuddering breath, losing all sight of a blonde head of hair among all these caps and gowns, and it feels like dying.

She feels like it is the last intake of air she will ever have.

But no, there is another.

And then another.

And she is alive, but barely.

/ /

"Holy... uh, wow, is that really **you**?"

"Yea, yea... is that really **you**?"

And they sort of laugh. And they sort of smile. And they sort of tilt and lean and frantically curb some natural impulse that rests in their bones - anything to not get closer, anything at all.

Ashley's shopping her demo around. Spencer is in her third year at NYU.

They don't have time to talk much. They exchange numbers.

Spencer goes right. Ashley goes left.

Spencer, though, made the first call. And she regrets it the minute she does it, because her chest grows tight and her hands are shaking.

And things like this should be over, right?

Things like this should be dead, right?

"Hello?"

"Oh, hey, Ashley, it's Spencer."

"Hey, hi... how are you?"

"Good. Um, so I was thinking about going to see this Hitchcock retrospective and... and..."

Spencer curses her tongue and her lips and her mind.

Because things like this shouldn't be said, right?

Things like this should be long gone, right?

"...Do you want me to go with you?"

"Uh, you know what, I am sure you are busy-"

"No. Not really. I am up for anything, Spence..."

And swords, double-edged, are hanging precariously around Spencer's head.

Swords called the past. Swords called still-lingering tension. Swords called infidelity.

Because Spencer does have someone, a girl with pretty green eyes and a nice smile and who doesn't like old films in the slightest.

Because Spencer is not single. Or available.  
She is taken.

And yet... And yet.

/ /

Ashley changes outfits a million times.

And then she changes them a million more, shoes in a pile and shirts on the floor, nothing looking right or looking good.

She runs a hand through her hair and sinks down onto the edge of her bed.

She stares at her face in that long mirror, worry warring with anticipation in the lines and shadows she finds there, and it is King High all over again.

King High and trying to impress. King High and trying to fit in. King High and there is a girl there - a girl that Ashley actually likes, a lot.

And she'd give anything to make that girl notice her the way she wants to be noticed.

She'd give anything to ignore her own trepidation, hugs that last too long but always end and hands that hold but never move further.

Ashley stays stuck for so long.

And best friends is better than nothing at all, eh?

But that was then.

And she got nothing, Spencer like sand along her fingertips.

Ashley throws on the last pair of jeans she discarded and one of her old band-tees, pulling a jacket over her shoulders.

She turns out the light and she walks quickly, before she can alter this course of action.

Being in the same space as Spencer. Being in the same room with Spencer. Being in the dark with Spencer, with arms so close and lips so near.

You'd think she could have forgotten it in music or beer or bodies.

And she did try. And try. And try. And try.

But to no avail.

Some drugs are not in a needle. Some habits are not in pill-form. Some people just linger in your soul and you find that you don't really want them to go.

You find that you ache for them. You find that your life is pretty hollow without them.

You find yourself doing whatever you can to have a piece of them returned, to have a part of them if you can't have all of them, anything... anything will do.

Of course, Ashley is attempting to kid herself.

Because she wants all of Spencer and she always has.

/ /

Cary Grant is hanging off of Mount Rushmore.

And as much as Spencer likes this film, as much as she could deconstruct it in class on Monday, it has not held her attention at all.

Her attention has been on the floor, where her feet tap. Her attention has been on her lap, where her palms sweat and her fingers twist nervously. Her attention has been on the woman beside her, who keeps shifting in that seat - to the left and legs crossed, back to sitting up straight and knees close together - that's where Spencer's attention has been all night long.

When it finally happens, the thing both of them dread and want simultaneously, Spencer feels a rush of heat soar through her veins - tugging at her heart, pooling at the center of her body.

And she knows that Ashley feels something so similar.

She knows that Ashley is feeling all the same damn things, because the woman hesitates instead of just pulling away.

In the dark, with themes of paranoia and every-man helplessness playing out on the big screen, their arms collide - skin upon skin.

A soft bumping, a delicate touch, and Spencer is lost.

And found.

And so completely fucked.

They don't move. They stay that way, side by side, contact made. And, ever so slowly, a whisper of something else along the edge of Spencer's hand and she shivers.

She shivers and allows her eyes to flutter shut.

And she knows that nothing should feel this good, especially considering how things ended... especially considering who Spencer will probably come home to tonight, in that apartment with the key that Spencer gave her... her girlfriend, waiting and none the wiser.

But still, she stays put.

Spencer doesn't move. She catches the faint pressure of a finger aligned with one of her own, overlapping so naturally, and she does not make Ashley stop.

She should stop all of this...

...But she does not.

And it's not that she won't, it's that she can't.

/ /

"So, uh, I had a good time. Thanks for inviting me. I'm... I'm glad you did."

"Sure. I mean, yea, it was... well, it was good... It was nice."

"Yea, very nice. Better than."

"...Than what?"

Ashley smiles to herself, watching the sidewalk slip on by under her feet, very aware of Spencer walking so close - close enough to grab, close enough to kiss.

She tries to push those thoughts away. She tries and fails.

"Better than chocolate-chip ice cream at two in the morning with the waves rolling in."

And out of the corner of her eye, Ashley watches it all play out over Spencer's features - recollection, wistful and bitter and beautiful, a stain upon the cheek and upon the soul.

But the woman handles it well and Ashley releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Not much could be better than that." Spencer says so softly.

And, without answering, Ashley agrees. Not much could be better than the two of them, still kids and still sort of innocent and still on the way to something with each other. Not much could be better than the laughter shared on that west-coast shoreline, the stars out and sticky chins from where the dessert got reckless.  
Not much could be better than that moment, not for Ashley.

Maybe not for Spencer, either.

They meander and they talk about random things and neither of them seem too keen on finding their respective cars. They bypass the bars, though. They avoid the clubs, too.

They just walk and walk, talking about frivolous things with their mouths and saying something else all-together with everything else.

Shoulders that say 'I screwed up'. Hips that say 'I still need you so badly'.

Ashley thinks of her body as a living and breathing story, one with Spencer's name jotted down everywhere - underlined and highlighted.

"I should get going. It's late."

"Oh, okay, yea... Yea, me too."

"This was nice, Ashley."

"Wasn't totally horrible, was it?"

And they smile, because they were both wondering how this would truly go. And they smile, because they are pleasantly surprised by this turn of events.

And they smile because they can.

Ashley smiles because it is Spencer. And Spencer always makes her lips turn upward, a pure shot of happiness.

The door looms now. Reality awaits again.

They have an awkward hug, one that isn't long enough and is still too damn long - it still lingers too well.

Spencer's cheek is smooth and warm as it lazily slides against Ashley's as the woman steps back.

And the glint in those blue eyes is anything but naive.

One touch is all it took to remind them. One more and that is all it takes to break them.

And, just like that, Ashley tilts her head and closes her eyes and her lips find what's been missing.

/ /

Spencer wakes up and imagines it is dawn, in another city and in another room - if she were to look over at the walls, they would be covered in teenage rebellion. If she were to glance at the floor, it would be littered with tossed aside clothing and scattered notebooks. And it would be a bright Sunday, with no mother downstairs - as usual - and the well paid walls block out the birds and the airplanes... and if she were to listen closely, she'd hear her own heart beating. Beating and pounding and thrumming with love.

But no, that's just a used-to-be.

Spencer wakes up and it is still dark, in a room she doesn't know the first thing about.

Vague outlines are all she can see, there but not fully, and the weight of what she has done pushes down on her chest like bricks.

Pushes down on her like a leg against her own, hot and possessive flesh for a cage... Just like that indeed.

She closes her eyes once more and silently cries.

_She wanted to say 'how dare you', but they've been casting dares all night and they've been eagerly awaiting the moment when someone suggested truth instead._

_So what if truth is not a conversation long over-due?_

_So what if truth is a kiss?_

_Is there anything more real and honest than that?_

_Spencer falls right into it, a trap she would willingly set off, a snare that she hops right into - tender rabbit so happily caught._

_And they kiss._

_They kiss and not a single other part of them is touching, just their lips._

_Just their lips, languid and soft and slipping from one taste to another... just their lips, caressing and steadily consuming._

_And so the decision is made as Ashley's fingertips glide over Spencer's neck._

_The decision to go further._

_Because that's what they always want with each other, to go further and further... and further still._

_No lights, not tonight._

_These are shadow things, this kind of love, the one you keep secret - not because of shame, but because... sometimes you just cannot face the person you'd give it all up for._

_Give up that girlfriend. Give up that school. Give up those friends. Give up this town. Give up this world you've built._

_Sometimes you can't look too closely at that person who fucking owns you, because it'll ruin you._

_But you can feel them - firm and sure, pulling off your clothes, disrobing you and laying down slow fire in your gut - you can feel them as they claim you, as is their right._

_Spencer is taken alright._

_But not by the girl who is probably asleep by now, crashed out on her couch, not knowing that mistakes are being made as slumber occurs._

_Spencer is taken - in the metaphorical sense, yes, but in every other way as well._

_Taken by the sensation of Ashley between her legs, taken by each and every spot that Ashley has not forgotten how to touch, taken by the length of tongue that runs rampant along her curves and along her spine, taken by Ashley so deep inside of her... metaphorically, yes... literally, fuck yes..._

_Spencer had glossed over this so many times and maybe even pretended that it was never this intense._

_But here they are, gone is the gentle and the sublime, now things are frantic._

_They are frantic, nails and tugging and thrusting and Ashley's aching groan is more intoxicating than anything Spencer has ever heard in her entire lifetime and they are so very close now._

_So very close. So very close._

_"Don't stop... please, don't stop..." And it is Spencer who takes them there, allows this to culminate and find a place to land._

_Ashley's mouth crashes down upon hers._

_And this is, suddenly, the most wonderful moment ever._

_It is better than._

_Better than everything._

Spencer is sitting up now, fumbling around for her clothes and wiping away guilty tears.

Even now, the body that rests behind her is such a temptation - such a gorgeous and dangerous form, a tiger stalking Spencer's insides.

And she has to grit her teeth just to get up.

Just to walk away.

Just to turn it into something cheap and wrong, when it is nothing of the former and so much of the latter.

And Spencer doesn't look back as she shuts the door.

/ /

Ashley wants to prove what she already knows to be true - that love just does not end.

If you are lucky, it fades and burns out - the match is still there, but no longer lit.

If you are unlucky, it was never real to begin with.

But if you are Ashley Davies, you are somewhere in the middle - where it was once bigger than life and now it recedes... still in reach, though, still near enough to start over again.

Ashley, for once, chooses truth.

But that doesn't mean it will choose her back.

She can't look at the bed without it taunting her, forcing her to recall that which she could never misplace anyway.

Where the bodies dipped down. Where the sweat painted the sheets. Where the wrinkles finally smoothed out, pulled tight and stretched wide, appearing brand new - where they made love.

No matter Spencer's sneaking away.

No matter the darkness of the room.

It doesn't matter, because Ashley is choosing the truth this time.

They made love. But not a remake of the first time, all shy gasps from two girls who had never really fallen so hard.

They made love for the first time, just the other night and after a film, in Ashley's temporary bed with all the lights off.

No matter the consequences, of which there are many.

Because Ashley knows. She is not ignorant to that other reality, the one without her being in it. Spencer made it clear before the credits could finish rolling, soft amber lights slowly getting brighter in that almost-empty theater.

There is someone else. There is another pair of arms at home. There is a new lover, front and center.

But there is an old lover in the wings, always in the wings, and Spencer's words make sense - and mean nothing, not in the end.

And Ashley could have been the good one, the one to say good-night and mean it and disappear again.

Ashley could have ended that hug and trudged up those steps of her hotel and that could have been it.

She could have been the voice of reason, saving someone from pain and from heart-break.

Ashley chooses truth, though.

And the truth isn't always right. It just is.

Her fingers are dialing before her mind catches up.

It rings exactly twice and the voice on the other end is quiet, intimate without meaning to be - and Ashley realizes that she'll do anything to have Spencer back, even if it is only for a second.

Anything and everything.

"Can we meet up and talk?"

"I'm, uh, busy right now. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Okay. Tomorrow."

And the plan is made. And the course is set. And one of them could back down, could re-think and try to be better than they are, could try and shatter the illusion.

But Ashley knows it won't be her to do so.

Because love just does not end.

And that is the only truth that catches hold of her hand, squeezes it tight and doesn't let go.

/ /

Spencer, if she were talking, would line up her scars and let them speak.

'You hurt me.'

'You left me.'

'You broke my heart.'

'You let me go through all of that agony alone and you thought you could just waltz back in to my world and you fucked it all up... You did all that, Ashley. You did all of that on your own.'

Ashley, if she were talking, would lay out all her wounds and let them explain.

'I was scared.'

'I was so used to running away.'

'I was unable to love you like you deserved and I knew it.'

'I was a mess and it's no excuse and I can never make it up to you... but, please, let me try... Let me fix this. Let me fix us, Spencer. Please.'

And they are standing too close, forgoing the cafe, back in a room coated in daylight this time.

And they are stumbling towards their second mistake as easily as they did their first.

Maybe they are too afraid to say all those things, fearful that the slaps to the face will sting too much and the blame will weigh too heavily, will bring a woman to her knees.

Maybe they are incapable of words, once again relying on actions to be louder.

Relying on actions to keep spelling out the thing they cannot avoid and the thing that will turn this universe upside-down.

Spencer's breath is warm upon Ashley's lips and Ashley finds purchase upon Spencer's hips and they pause there - staring into each other's eyes.

And the gap grows narrower still.

And they both knew that it would go this way.

And do actions really say more than the sentences, more than the endless paragraphs that one can repeat?

Is this palm, heated and reverent moving along the stomach, weaving a story?

Are these passionate clenches like shouts from a rooftop?

When they lay there, foreheads pressed together and wrapped up in one another and breathing so fast... is it now chiseled into stone, a commandment between them and God, to be forever read?

Is this what truth looks like before the lies start up again?

And Ashley cannot ask Spencer to stay, not yet.

Because Spencer isn't ready to stay, not yet.

They dress in silence and they both walk from where they fell down so quickly. Their eyes don't meet much now, what with the sun to see them and windows open and - out there somewhere - is that other lover, that new lover, a girl unknowingly in a triangle of emotions.

But Ashley looks up and so does Spencer and the door may shut, but it never closes, not for the two of them.

And Spencer slips away, feeling bereft and wanting to turn around and, yet, her feet keep moving onward and she doesn't stop once along the way.

And Ashley stares hard at the ticket on the nightstand, the one that will take her back to California tomorrow, the one that will end this conversation they aren't having.

/ /

Everyone knows.

Dinners that turn into long nights. One drink that turns into four. Idle chit-chat that turns into moans.

Everyone knows.

Spencer wears it like a red 'A' upon her chest and it gets harder every day to fake her sincerity, falsify her monogamy.

But never hard enough to stop.

And that is what kills her the most - she is not as good as she seems to be, she is not as honest as she wants to be.

Everyone knows.

Trips to New York every three weeks. Faces behind the desk knowingly smile. Bank accounts that no one knows about.

Everyone knows.

Ashley ignores Kyla's disapproving glare and acts like she is in control of this, but she knows she is not. Not at all.

She gives up the reins the very moment Spencer comes into sight.

And that is what kills her the most - she is not as strong as she seems to be, she is not as brave as she wants to be.

The only one who is clueless is a woman Ashley has yet to meet and probably never will.

The only one who is out of the loop is a woman that Spencer tries to adore, but she can only manage a twisted kind of loyalty.

But they say that ignorance is bliss and this woman is in paradise.

It is Spencer and Ashley who reside in hell.

Every time they collide and every time they then walk away, every time they give over their lust and then deny their love, every time they almost say it and every time they never do...

...And everyone knows.

Ashley knows. And Spencer knows it, too.

/ / / / / /

**END**


End file.
